THE CLIMBER

They say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. But to one particular climber, each footstep in this trek is replaced by a strained grasp against solid rock, and at every point of rest is a flurry of thought. Therefore, simply and truthfully, the zenith of the mountain he will face can only lead to... the Twilight Zone.

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A man reads a newsletter, standing before the foot of a mountain. The periodical provides a sense a mental peace before the expedition, a necessity for a climb of this size. After taking a deep breath, he shortly gathers his gear, and then takes his first foothold on the north face.

For the first quarter mile, the man's climb is uneventful. He passes by a bird's nest, though of a very common bird. A branch of berries catches his eye -- and that's all it does. Finally, he reaches a crevice.

It was simply a dent in the mountain face, but was enough for the Climber to stand against and rest a bit. He had quite a view from that height.

"Hey," said a voice suddenly.

The Climber instinctively looks up. Nothing. He looks all around him. Nothing is there. He felt fairly certain he had heard someone. What had happened here?

"Turn around and keep climbing," spoke the voice once more. "I'm about 20 meters straight up."

The Climber did not believe this. The voice seemed as if it were right behind him, no matter which way he turned. But he would oblige, climbing once more.

He had reached the quarter mark, and a few more feet would take him to an outcropping that could fit a small picnic table. Someone was waiting for him.

It was another man, dressed in similar hiking gear. "Great, you've made it," he said.

"Do I know you?" asked the Climber with an air of befuddlement.

"Certainly not," answered the mysterious man. "But I know who you will be."

"Excuse me?"

"I am saying that I know of the person whom you will become."

"Who exactly would that be?"

"A person who will make three difficult decisions on the way to the summit. One of those decisions, however, will be one you would never make on the ground; it would go against your logic anywhere else."

The Climber stood in silence.

"I expected you would not believe me. Don't worry, you will eventually."

He met his first choice sooner than he expected -- which was not at all. A fellow climber clung stranded to the side of the mount.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have an extra rope?" asked the fellow. "I seem to be in dire straits -- my rope snapped and I dropped the spare earlier."

He contemplated the fellow's situation: If he gave him his spare, the Climber's rope could snap and he'd be in the same situation as the fellow. But he couldn't leave him stranded, could he? If the Climber gave him the spare, that spare could snap and they'd both be stranded.

"Here," said the Climber and passed on the rope. They're eyes hadn't even met.

"Thanks."

Reaching the second quarter seemed to take twice as long as the first. The Climber took extra care when using his final rope, so perhaps that was causing the lack of altitude achieved. Or, perhaps, the Climber kept getting lost in his thoughts of the mysterious man who had told him, almost prophetically, of three decisions he would make. He had just made one.

As he had arrived at that conclusion, the Climber also arrived at the mouth of a seemingly large cavern. Without hesitation, he entered.

He could not believe his eyes.

Before him stood a beautifully inlaid entrance passage. Carved in magnificent detail were images of crowns, ballerinas, and ribbons. The decorations were all accentuating and at the same time disguising the fact that the Climber was even in a cave at all. At the center of the designs at the far end were two huge ornate doors. As well as a guard.

"Excuse me," said the guard, "Is there something you want?"

"Oh," said the Climber suddenly. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect--"

The guard looked him over with a sneer. "You aren't planning to enter wearing that, are you?" He wasn't expecting an answer.

The Climber gave him one anyway. "Yes, yes. Of course I wouldn't expect that you would understand, but mountain climbing requires certain clothing and gear." He caught himself by surprise with that statement, but he knew that, somehow, he was about make his second prophetic choice.

"Go right ahead," ­said the guard, so he did.

It was a banquet hall.

The statement itself did not make sense. Somehow, a hall large enough to carry some 80 dancers, 12 performers, and at least half a dozen waiters did so. Inside a mountain. The music swelled with an unfamiliar, musty tune.

Before he could think any further, the Climber bumped into an eloquent-looking lady in a grandiose evening gown.

"Do you belong here?" she snapped.

What could he possibly say? Was this the third decision? What if--?

The climber was shoved into the opposite direction -- right into an elderly man wearing an obvious, almost judicial, wig.

"Hey! What is the matter with you?"

Was he supposed to answer?

Before he could even open his mouth, the moldy tune suddenly died down, and an announcement was promptly made: "We have an intruder in our midst. All trespassers are to vacate immediately." The source of the voice could not be seen.

All eyes were trained to the Climber.

"How in the world did this individual get in here?" said the wig-wearing man.

"Explain yourself!" said the woman in the evening gown.

"I just... I just want to get to the top!" said the Climber stupidly.

"So do I!" replied the wig-wearing man, also stupidly. "Now get the hell out of here!"

"I repeat," said the unseen announcer, "that all trespassers are to vacate immediately."

The Climber suddenly recognized the voice. It belonged to the mysterious man.

"All right, all right," said the Climber. "I'm going." He walked through a rapidly opening path through the throngs of dancers, toward the kitchen door.

As soon as the doors had shut, the dingy tune had filled the hall once more. But the vague smell of onions now reached the Climber's nose and the angry yells of chefs and the clanging of pots became music to his ears.

Walking past the steaming ovens and over to a ladder, the Climber finally realized what the third decision was. He ascended the ladder, up into an opening, which gave way to a more traditional cavern -- one without decorations and designs. There, at the opposite end, illuminated by the exit at the outside mountain wall, stood the mysterious man.

"We meet again," said he. "Such a stupid line, isn't it?"

"How did you know?" said the Climber. "I mean really, how did you know?"

The mysterious man said nothing.

"Can you get out of the way then, please?"

"Oh yes, of course." he said. "I probably shouldn't try to stop you from making the decision."

"It wasn't even a decision before you started meddling in my affairs."

"I guess you could say that."

"You know, I didn't even catch your name."

"It's Rod." The man looked up at the sky. "Amazing sight, isn't it? But you know what I find even more amazing? That the more we live our lives, the less we know about life itself. It's really something."

The Climber could take no more of this babble, and left the cavern.

Taking his last preparatory foothold on the face of the mountain, he climbed the last few yards to the summit.

The top seemed to have flattened out enough for the Climber to stand at its center. There, he pulled out his copy of the newsletter and tied it to a pole. It stood flapping furiously in the breeze, a last reminder of a man who had reached the end of his story.

The Climber took off his backpack, dropped his rope and supplies, and walked to the edge.

He spread his arms and jumped.

END